Tomb Raider: A Survivors Tale
by xI Blackfyre Ix
Summary: Life hasn't been easy for Tom Mallister. His mother died when he was young and he was raised by his abusive father. When he is given the chance to work as a deckhand aboard the Endurance, he seizes this opportunity to escape. But Tom has no idea how this voyage will quickly turn into a nightmare and whether or not he can survive as the same man, or turn into someone else entirely.
1. Prologue

**A/N: Hello there and welcome to my new fanfic! If you are here because you have read my previous (and current) fanfic - Mass Effect: Pendulum - then thank you for supporting me :) If however you are new then please check out the aforementioned story, I like to think it's worth a read! Unlike my other story which is updated every Monday (usually!), this one is only going to be updated as and when, so please stay tuned. Well, enough ranting. I hope you enjoy and as usual please feel free to review or if you have any questions then you're welcome to send me a message and I'll answer it as best I can.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Tomb Raider universe or any of it's characters, with the exception of Tom Mallister, he is my creation.**

* * *

Prologue

The constant, rhythmic sounds of waves clawing at the hull of the ship had become as familiar to Tom Mallister as breathing. Overhead thick, grey clouds cast a brooding shadow upon the restless ocean. On the horizon, bursts of lightening streaked through the sky, illuminating the evidence of their isolation. A fast, swirling wind whistled loudly through the air, turning the ever-present army of rain drops into sharp daggers, stabbing at the uncovered faces of the men and women aboard the Endurance.

"A fine night for a walk, wouldn't you say Tom?" The captain of the Endurance, Conrad Roth, was making his evening rounds on deck, braving the force of the gale and the battering of the swift rain.

As an ex Royal Marine, Roth was a stickler for routine. He had a habit of checking every inch of the ship before retiring to his quarters for the evening, often accompanied by half a bottle of cheap scotch and an illegally smuggled Cuban cigar.

Crouching, Tom tightly held the sodden hood of his sunflower yellow raincoat as he finished checking whether the rusted anchor was secure. Satisfied that the garish lump of shaped iron wasn't shifting an inch, he stood to face the captain before he responded, face red from the cold.

"I've never exactly been one for the cold, sir!" Tom shouted above the torrent of the wind.

Despite the piercing cold and the continuous bombardment of rain, Roth grinned.

"That'd be your damn Southerner blood!" joked the burly Northman, "If it weren't for your father, I might be tempted to throw you overboard!"

Tom laughed as he swept a few stray strands of pale blond hair across his narrow forehead and out from his deep, green eyes.

"If it wasn't for my father, I might be tempted to throw myself overboard!" In front of him Roth barked with laughter.

"That's the spirit lad!" In the distance the sharp crack of lightening was audible. Roth put his hand on the young man's shoulder. "When you're done here, you'd better get some rest!" he suggested. Tom nodded in agreement as Roth headed inside and out of the driving rain.

Small chips of white paint scratched away at Tom's hands as he used the ships cold railing to guide him down the port side of the ship and towards the stern. He lost his footing several times as the deck of the ship had been glazed with a layer of water from the constant crashing of the waves.

Below decks he imagined the crew in their cabins, a hot drink in their hands and warm food in their stomachs. Tom guessed that Sam would be playing around with her camera, perhaps editing some footage that had been shot earlier that day or making a video diary. By now Roth would be in his quarters sipping a glass of highland scotch or maybe chatting to Lara as she studied the countless maps and historical documents that were being consulted on the voyage. Ever since Dr Whitman, the original leader of the expedition, had disagreed with her about the direction the ship should be sailing, Lara had emerged as the person now calling most of the shots, something that sat well with everybody except Whitman. Tom couldn't imagine how a fool like him had scrambled his way into becoming a 'leading figure' in the archaeological community.

At the stern of the ship, Tom could make out Jonah's figure struggling with fastening a crate onto the deck. Despite the weather, Jonah stubbornly wore his red rugby vest, shorts and flip-flops, something that amused everyone on the crew to no end.

"Need a hand, Jonah?" Tom shouted above the thrashing of the ocean. The big Samoan beckoned the young man over and together they began securing the crates related to the expedition.

"You shouldn't be about in this kind of weather, little Englishman," he scolded. Jonah insisted on calling him 'Little Englishman' despite the fact that Tom stood at a satisfying six foot two, only marginally shorter than the Polynesian man himself.

Tom assumed that it had nothing to do with his height. Jonah liked to refer to Lara as 'Little Bird' and Tom was fairly confident that Lara couldn't fly, although watching her climb did certainly raise some questions. Despite the amount that Roth boasted, Lara didn't believe she was a particularly good climber, even though everyone knew that she was one of the best.

"Just finishing my rounds," Tom replied. "Besides, Roth didn't seem particularly concerned." Next to him Jonah laughed.

"Well you know him. If you pretend that there isn't a problem, then you don't have to worry about one," Jonah clapped Tom on the back, nearly knocking him off balance. "All English people are the same," he quipped. Tom chuckled and rolled his eyes.

Both men cast their eyes skyward as a bolt of lightning connected with the water less than a mile away.

"Storm is getting bad," Jonah commented nervously. "Perhaps we should head inside?" he suggested. Beside him Tom nodded in agreement as they began to head towards the steel door.

Inside the ship the roar of the storm was dimmed by the narrow steel hallways and the sound of the crew going about their business. Tom looked at his old, tatty watch and decided that there was still some time to get a hot drink from the mess before heading to the alluring warmth of his bed.

"Hey man, you headed to the mess to?" Behind him, Alex Weiss was jogging to catch up.

"Yeah, I thought I'd snag a quick drink before I hit the sack," Tom replied as the nerdy American caught up to him. Alex was one of the few people – aside from Jonah and Roth – with whom he had any kind of real connection. When he was younger he didn't have many friends but he was sure that it would be safe to call Alex a friend, maybe even his best friend.

"The storm's bad huh?" Alex commented suddenly as they neared the end of the corridor. Tom looked at him with a grin.

"Observant as always," he replied as the ship swayed slightly to the right. Tom decided to drive his joke home. "If you think it's bad in here, then you're welcome to join me on a…" The ship listed sharply to the left as they exited the corridor, knocking Tom off balance and causing him to fall.

"Ouch!"

Tom looked down to see that he'd fallen in to someone.

"Oh, sorry about that," he apologised.

"Hi Lara," Alex said as Tom roughly pulled her to her feet.

It had been obvious to the whole crew for a while now that Alex was madly in love with the young adventurer – and Tom could certainly understand why. Despite being a tiny five foot four, Lara Croft had a habit of punching above her weight, and not just in the boxing ring. At only twenty-one years old she was widely considered by many to be a huge up-and-comer in the archaeological world having graduated with honours from University College London. Now, this expedition was the start of what was looking to be a long and fruitful career in the subject. To look at she was certainly pleasing. Her plain, brown hair was tied into a lazy ponytail. Her features were well-defined, something that Tom imagined hadn't escaped Alex's notice.

"Oh, hey Alex," she said nonchalantly as she rubbed her elbow and picked up her iPod.

"Are you going to the mess?" he asked, looking a lot like a loyal puppy. Lara looked up from the device.

"No, I'm just going to go to my room and listen to some music for a while, you know, to calm the nerves ahead of tomorrow."

Alex nodded profusely as Tom tried to suppress a laugh.

"Oh, yeah, I understand. I was just heading that way too. How about I walk you there?" All of a sudden Tom got the feeling that he'd be heading to the mess alone.

"Yeah sure," she beamed. Lara was one of those rare people who had the ability to make everyone she talked to feel like they were special. Tom had noticed in the conversations she had with the other crew members, they were always completely immersed. Unlike Alex, who was oblivious to most things, Tom had never had the courage to speak to any of the important people on the ship, with the exception of Roth, whom he had known since his days growing up in Sussex.

"See you later," Tom called as the pair walked off.

With the dreary prospect of being alone at the mess hall, Tom decided to forgo the cup of hot chocolate that had him salivating just moments earlier and go straight to bed. It was going to be a busy tomorrow with everyone expecting to find Yamatai, or at least some evidence of it.

Tom was awoken by the sound of an alarm.

Quickly slipping out of his cosy bed and hastily putting on a pair of khaki trousers and a crumpled olive green shirt, he opened the door and stuck his head into the corridor.

All along the hall people were running about, constantly showered in the red flashing of the emergency light and the sounds of panic.

"Oh shit!" Tom cursed as he ran back into his room to find his still wet work boots.

All of a sudden there was an almighty crack of thunder and the boat was hit so hard that Tom was flung across the room like a ragdoll and smashed hard into the bare table that adorned the corner of the room nearest the porthole. "Fuck!" The force of the impact had dislocated his shoulder so that it now hung limply by his side. Also his face and arms were pot marked by multiple embedded splinters from when he went careering into the wooden table, leaving thin streams of blood trickling off his fingers.

Before Tom could decide whether to try and reset his shoulder or not a chorus of screams echoed from the corridor. Dragging his useless right arm with him and leaving a trail of scarlet behind him he ran to the doorway and peered round.

At the end of the hall a torrent of ocean water was gushing towards him.

"Oh double shit!"

He swerved quickly back into the room, put his back against the cold, hard, steel of the door and with all the strength he could muster, he pushed. Tom felt the heavy object budge and begin to swing shut, "Come on, you bastard!" he screamed, face red from effort and blood.

The door was inches from shutting before Tom was jolted forward and onto the floor. He choked as the potent taste of salt battered its way down his tired lungs, making him scramble up in panic as freezing sea water invaded his room like a horde of angry barbarians.

The water level was rising fast as Tom desperately looked around for any way out of the room in which he was quickly becoming entombed. _There!_ He thought to himself as the metal sheen of the room's only porthole caught his attention.

Tom waded towards the back wall of the room farthest from the door, legs like lead and teeth chattering from the ice-cold of the unrelenting onrush of water.

By now the ocean had reached chest height as he searched frantically for a release catch.

The porthole opened with a shot as water rushed in from both the door and the window, bringing the level up to Tom's chin. Using his remaining arm as a lever he hoisted himself into the gap and gritted his teeth as he attempted to pull himself through the small window.

His dislocated shoulder snagged on the frame, causing Tom to scream under the water. With a great surge of effort he was able to force himself through the gap. Had it not been for his injury, his normal broad shoulders would have sentenced him to an early grave.

Tom kicked his legs furiously, surging towards the crinkle of light that the moon was selflessly radiating as his lungs burned without the air they so desperately craved.

After what seemed like an age he burst through the surface of the violent waves and gulped down as much oxygen as he could. Tom latched on to a nearby piece of driftwood that was formerly part of the ship. Looking around he could see that the ocean was littered with debris from the Endurance. People were dotted around, some alive and some not. To his right the facedown body of a crew member floated aimlessly by him, a large iron rod protruding from the small of his back, leaving a red stain in the surrounding water.

The Endurance was in two halves.

One was sinking and the other appeared to be relatively stable, although Tom was sure that wouldn't last long. For a brief moment he thought he saw someone jump between the two halves before falling into the deadly grasp on the ocean below. Tom hoped it wasn't anyone he knew.

The sky was illuminated as a bolt of lightning cracked the top of the remaining half of the ship. A sound that reminded Tom of a whale permeated the air before he saw that a large shard of the radio tower had splintered off from the top of ship and began its descent straight towards him.

He paddled ferociously but the current of the waves meant that he was being constantly buffeted.

Tom looked up to see if he had escaped death once again.

Then everything went black.

* * *

**Well I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of this new story, it certainly took me long enough to write! As I said earlier please feel free to check out my other story :) I don't know when I'll be uploading a new chapter here but hopefully it wont be too long!**

**Until the next time...**


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N: Sorry it's taken so long to post the next chapter! I've had part of it on my computer for weeks now but I've gone to university and everything has been up in the air. I can't promise that it'll be soon before I post the next chapter, but I will say that the story is far from finished!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Tomb Raider franchise or any of its characters, with the exception of Tom and Max, they are my creations.**

* * *

Chapter 1

Smoke.

That was the first thing that Tom smelt.

Normally smoke might be associated with destruction or terror, and yet all he felt was an overwhelming sense of relief.

He was alive.

Slowly he opened his heavy eyes. Streaks of pale sunlight punctured the enshrouding grey of the sad sky. In front of him he could hear the oddly comforting sounds of the waves slithering along the surface of a beach, desperately trying to reclaim him for the ocean, yet always falling narrowly short of their mark.

"You're awake then. And before you ask, no, I don't know where we are."

Groggily, Tom rolled his bruised head towards the voice. A few feet to his right the silhouette of a man came crashing into focus causing Tom's head to swim.

"Where are we?" he asked as he massaged his bruised temples, beside him the man sighed.

"I did just say I don't know," he replied with a slight laugh. Tom couldn't quite place his accent, Australian? New Zealand? Tom found it hard to tell between the two. "But I'll put your amnesia down to that mango sized bump on your noggin."

Tentatively Tom ran a calloused hand over his head and winced when he came into contact with a large, tender bulge on the top of skull.

"Your shoulder was also in a bit of a state – looked so limp I thought it was going to fall off!" he laughed again. "But after trial, and safe to say a fair amount of error I was able to put it back, so you'll forgive me if it gives you a bit of grief."

Carefully Tom flexed his arm, testing it. Pain shot through his shoulder as if there were shards of glass embedded in his veins, but it was nothing compared to the sheer agony that it was before.

"Thanks…" He left the sentence trailing so that the mystery figure would provide a name.

"I'm Max. I'd shake your hand but I'm scared it'll fall off."

Tom laughed, something he regretted when his head throbbed in pain. "Tom," he said, completing the introduction. "Don't suppose you fancy helping me sit up?" He asked pointing towards a group of rocks a few metres behind him.

"Sure mate, no problem," Max said as he fed his hands under Tom's armpit's. His dangling legs left trails in the sand as he allowed Max to drag him. The pain from his shoulder was so bad that Tom thought he might black out, but just when he thought he had no teeth left to grind he found himself propped up against that cold, rough surface of a protruding rock.

Once Tom was settled in his new position, Max ruffled his short, yet curly brown hair causing flecks of seawater and copious amounts of sand to shower onto his faded blue jeans and green converse trainers.

"Oh, I nearly forgot," he said jogging a few metres down the beach. "I found a few berries that look edible. Not enough for seconds though." Tom cupped his hand as Max poured in about half a dozen round berries, a meagre meal to be sure, and probably going to give him diarrhoea later on but frankly Tom was so hungry that he'd have eaten just about anything. "Don't gulp them down too quick, I don't know if there's more," Max suggested as he watched Tom inhale the small, purple fruits.

Tom took a moment to look around.

They were on a beach, although which beach, and on which island he had no idea. Behind him vast cliffs spanned as far as the eye could see either side, towering over them to provide a long shadow that encompassed the entire beach, making it extremely cold. Further inland Tom could see a large rainstorm that was heading there way.

"I don't recognise you from the Endurance," Tom asked as he turned to face his new companion. Max smiled as he finished nibbling on the juicy berries.

"I was part of the engineering team, so I was hidden away from the likes of Roth and the rest of the team. Wouldn't want some greasy nobody to ugly their day," He said, not without a hint of resentment and Marxist undertones. That look quickly disappeared as he turned the conversation back around on Tom. "Let me guess, cook?" Max asked, trying to guess his role on the ship. Tom chuckled forgetting the pain it caused his head.

"No. Just a lowly deckhand," he replied with an embarrassed grin.

"Nothing wrong with that," Max insisted firmly, his jawline becoming rigid. "You shouldn't let the likes of 'Lady Croft' and Dr Whitman make you feel like you're less than them. I'll tell you mate, it's because the rich people were making the decisions that we ended up here," Max said nodding towards the cliffs. Tom refrained from mentioning that he grew up in relative comfort money-wise in the fear that Max may attempt to cannibalise him. Instead he decided to change the subject.

"So what happens now? Should we try and find shelter or something?"

Max frowned as he considered it.

"Yeah I guess so, as long as you feel up to it, that is?"

Tom pushed himself into a wobbly stand, gritting his teeth in an attempt to hide the pain and show Max that he was up for walking. Max regarded him sceptically.

"I have an idea," he said as he scampered off into the nearby undergrowth and returned with a makeshift walking stick. "It's not much, but it's better than nothing. Besides," he added with a grin, "I'm sure you'll soon be running and jumping like a monkey."

"Oh God, I bloody hope not. My climbing skills suck."

"Don't worry about it mate, so do mine. Not much need for it when you've been imprisoned in the bowels of a ship."

Tom smiled. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that," he said as he tested his new walking stick by whacking it against a nearby rock, causing an echo to float through the nearby trees. "Nice and sturdy," Tom confirmed with a smile as Max looked on, annoyed.

"Hey, I'd rather not have to get another one of those. Try to stop hitting things with it." Tom formed a mocking salute.

"Will do, sir."

Max rolled his eyes as the two survivors made their way into the dense undergrowth and headed inland.

Later on the rain that had been visible from the shore began to shower them, although they were partially protected by the trees which formed a sort of makeshift canopy.

"Do you think there are other survivors?" Max wondered as he hacked away at a bush blocking their path with a crudely fashioned machete made out of tree bark.

"There must be. I'd be surprised if we were the only two left." Tom replied before he held his head up to the sky and opened his mouth in order to allow a thin trickle of rainwater the opportunity to quench his thirst.

Tom took a moment to scan around. All he could see were prickly bushes that came up to your chest and trees that stood as straight as totem poles with thick green vines dangling from their many sturdy branches. With the exception of the constant pounding of the rain, an unsettling silence permeated the air.

"Do you even know where we're going?" He asked frustrated and tired. Max turned towards him, his face laced with the same irritation that Tom had been feeling for the past hour.

"How the fuck should I? Or are you forgetting that I've never been here either?" Max shouted angrily.

"Well if you didn't have a clue then why did you offer to lead?" Tom retorted as he tightened his grip of the heavy, wooden walking stick and tried to convince himself that he wasn't about to smash it around the side of Max's head, a head that Tom unreasonably now decided was ugly and misshapen in a petty attempt to vilify the aggravating man.

In the distance there was a sharp crack.

Both men stopped in their tracks and listened. For a few heartbeats nothing more happened as the dull patter of the rain began to intensify into a constant, irritable shower. Max turned to Tom.

"Did you hear something?" He whispered above the din of the rain, Tom nodded his reply as he scanned through the dense trees.

"Perhaps it was nothing," he finally suggested, returning Max's heavy gaze.

"Yeah, maybe," he grudgingly conceded, "One thing for sure is that we should keep moving."

"Agreed."

Another crack.

Their heads flicked to the left, locating the source of the disturbance. In the distance, through the gaps in the trees Tom could make out shadows. Figures danced through the undergrowth, all the while getting closer to them.

"Run!" Max shouted as he began desperately scrambling through the thick undergrowth of the forest. Tom threw aside his stick and started running after him. Searing pain coursed through his shoulder as Tom struggled to keep pace. He looked back to see that the shadows were still doggedly pursuing. Ahead of him Max stopped and turned to encourage his companion.

"Come on mate, you…" His voice trailed off as he spotted one of the figures had stopped twenty yards behind, "Gun!"

As if on cue the trunks of trees exploded around them, casting tiny splinters in every direction. Instinctively Tom threw himself to the ground to avoid the sheer number of bullets that was being emptied in their direction. He took a moment to peel his head from off the ground and searched around for Max, to no avail. Leaves littered the sodden earth as bullets continued to be blindly poured into the thick undergrowth.

With his heart attempting to beat its way out of his chest, Tom took a deep breath and began to crawl away from his attackers. He was careful not to rustle any bushes or crack twigs as the last thing he wanted was to give away his already tenuous location to whomever, or whatever was attacking them.

Behind him, a shout went up from the attackers and the once rhythmic rattling of machine gun fire now ceased in an instant. Braving the very real risk of a bullet into the brain, Tom cautiously poked his head up and took a peek. He saw a tall man holding a handgun waving frantically towards the cliffs to Toms right. He glanced skyward and spotted a grainy figure, a person, shimmying along the face of the cliff. The rain was giving off a slight mist, preventing Tom from making out the individual. All he could see was that his pursuers had decided that he and Max, wherever he was, were no longer interesting, or perhaps they were convinced that they had been killed during the barrage of lead.

Tom moved into a low crouch, still wary in case any of the men had stayed behind to finish the job. He waited a few minutes, perfectly still until he was satisfied that they had moved on. He scanned around, looking for any sign of his partner.

"Max!" He hissed, not wanting to attract any stray gunmen.

Before he had time to react Tom felt something wrap around his ankle causing him to fall over as he attempted to step back.

"Calm down, it's just me." From amongst the thick bushes Tom saw the distinctly familiar face of the Kiwi, his features were obscured but a thick layer of mud and leaves that helped camouflage him.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" Tom scolded as he picked himself up. Max simply shrugged.

"Thought I'd wait and see if you got shot," he said casually but with a slight smirk.

"Very funny."

"I try," Max joked before returning to a serious face. "Did you see why they left?" He asked after he'd scrapped off most of the mud.

"Yeah, there was someone up there on that cliff," Tom replied, pointing to where he saw the person, "I didn't see who."

Max nodded quietly for a few moments, obviously thinking something through. Eventually he turned back to Tom, a resolved look plastering his handsome features.

"Right, then that's where we're headed."

* * *

**Well there it is, better late than never - or so I hope! Anyway, until the next time...whenever that is. :)**


End file.
